Chapter Two

The country roadhouse reeked with the smell of ale, smoke and body sweat, the sound of it full of laughter and boisterous conversation, tankards slamming against wooden tables and the occasional cry of a woman being mauled by a horny man. Children belonging in bed at this late hour scurried about under tables for scraps, while serving wenches—some handsome, some frightfully hideous—served up ale and a thick pork stew to those brave enough to try the steamy meat and potatoes. There were a dozen tables in two rows, a bar and kitchen at one end, and though it was nearly midnight, there was hardly a place for anyone just arriving to sit and rest. There were some beds in the rooms upstairs, but most of those crowded inside would slumber with their heads resting against the tables. Or perhaps they might find some straw in the barn across the yard. A nursing mother cooed to her suckling child, while a few sad tunes rose from a fiddler’s bow reminding the observer of a more tender side of life.

Rebecca was in heaven in the company of these squalid sorts. She only occasionally felt any guilt about her means of making a living. She never took from the poor, but only those unwholesome creatures who flashed their wealth about—those with silk vests and velvet hats and smug smiles on their faces as they twisted the lifeblood from the meager and underfed. Every silk hanky, every jewel and watch and wallet she could purloin was satisfaction to her hungry soul. Commonly, she dropped a coin among the poorest, not so they noticed who their benefactor was, but so they could buy a loaf of bread. She fashioned herself a latter day Robin Hood from the legends of old.

It would be her pleasure to reap some of her winnings from gambling houses and the elegant parlors of the London elite, but she would have to perform her schemes carefully, so as not to get caught. That was why she was working her way slowly to that teaming city. She needed practice, and this country roadhouse was the perfect place. Dressed as a boy, her hair tucked tightly inside her leather cap, her breasts bound, her face smeared with a bit of dirt, she snatched her treasure from here and there, while the unsuspecting drank their ale and jawed with their neighbors having no idea they would walk away with a little less in their pockets this night.

She had almost finished her work for the night, the din inside the roadhouse easing some with the late hour. Fewer children scampered for handouts, most leaning into the breasts of their mothers, while their fathers finished the last of their ale. A few babies squawked, while old men coughed and the smoke in the air rose toward the ceiling making the atmosphere clear of the hazy fog. Still, there was a mighty stench about with so many so close. At the door of the inn, Rebecca paused to adjust the pack she slung over her back, when she suddenly felt a hand at her wrist and the breath of a man at her ea